Storm Riders

by Margaret Weis

They both continued to listen and watch. A flare of green fire was followed by an orange fireball and the sound of an explosion.

  “Cannon blew up,” said Dag, shaking his head. “Poor bastards.” He was thinking of the gun crew.

  Stephano stirred restlessly. “We should go see if we can help—”

  “And do what, sir?” Dag demanded. “Throw rocks at them?”

  He glanced at the empty places on the deck where their own guns had been.

  “Damn! I forgot.” Stephano ran his hand through his hair. “Still, you should wake Miri—”

  Dag looked uncomfortable. “Begging your pardon, sir, but could you go wake Miri?”

  “Sure,” said Stephano, smiling in sympathy. He rested his hand on Dag’s shoulder. “She’ll get over it. Just give her time.”

  Dag shook his head. Putting the spyglass to his eye again, he went back to watching the battle. Stephano ran below.

  “Rigo, rise and shine!” Stephano called out, as he passed their berth.

  He heard only a muttered curse in response. Stephano knocked on Miri’s door. He still had his hand raised when she flung it open. She was dressed, her hair frowsy. Stephano could see Gythe sitting up in bed, blinking sleepily.

  “What’s wrong?” Miri demanded.

  “Nothing wrong with the Hopper. We’re almost through the Dustbin. We’re near the shipping lanes.”

  “You’ve seen a ship!” Miri said excitedly.

  Stephano nodded. “Probably a merchant ship. But there’s a problem. It’s under attack. Bottom Dwellers.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Miri muttered. “Give me a moment to wash and I’ll be there.”

  She shut the door. Stephano returned to the bridge to find Rodrigo standing on the deck in his shirtsleeves glaring at him.

  “Why did you wake me? It’s still night! I’m going back to bed. Let me know when it’s morning…”

  “We’ve sighted a ship under attack by Bottom Dwellers. See for yourself.” Stephano handed his friend the spyglass.

  “I know that look in your eye,” Rodrigo said, lowering the glass. “You want to go save them. May I remind you that we don’t have any guns.”

  “I don’t want to hear another word about the guns,” said Miri, coming up on deck. “Hand me the spyglass.”

  The sun was starting to rise, providing a better view. A lone island stood out clearly. Beyond that, they could see only the morning mists of the Breath and a long trailing plume of smoke.

  “That’s a merchant ship, all right,” she said.

  In the light of day they could see it without need of the spyglass. The merchant ship was a large one. Three masted, though only two now rose from the deck, the other must have been damaged in the assault. Two smaller masts thrust out from the sides of the hull, connecting the upper and lower sails. Long wings ran the full length of the hull. There would be two air screws on each wing with the wheel and the control panels located on the forecastle.

  “That’s one of the new designs used by the Travian Cartel,” said Stephano. “She’s a big one.”

  “And she’s on fire,” said Dag, watching.

  The six gunports on the starboard side were open. Smoke poured out of two of them. There was no sign of the gigantic bats or their riders. That was not necessarily a good sign.

  “But she’s not sinking. At least not yet. We’re going to sail over to see if we can help,” said Miri, taking her place at the helm. “Wake Gythe. Throw off the lines.”

  “Sail over there! You can’t be serious!” Rodrigo protested. “For all we know, the Bottom Dwellers have taken control of the ship!”

  “He’s right, Miri,” said Stephano. “We don’t know who’s on board the ship. And we don’t have any—”

  “We don’t have any bloody guns!” Miri yelled angrily. She glanced up at the balloon and pressed her lips together. She drew in a breath, let it out, forced herself to speak calmly. “We don’t have enough lift gas to carry us home. We have barely enough to keep us aloft for the next few hours. So it doesn’t matter who is on board that ship.”

  Miri nodded her head at the burning merchant vessel and added grimly, “If she sinks, so do we.”

  13

  The Travian Trade Cartel is the single most powerful merchant guild in the world of Aeronne. The cartel commands fifty large merchantmen, holds contracts with another thirty, and has seventy smaller ships under its flag. The cartel has exclusive shipping rights with local guilds in Estara, Rosia, Freya, and Travia. Recent mysterious attacks against ships owned or contracted by the cartel have caused them to arm all of their ships, creating what may be termed the third largest navy in the world.

  —Countess de Marjolaine, report to His Majesty’s Privy Council

  The Cloud Hopper sailed past the last island in the Dustbin. The vast expanse of the Breath lay beyond. The smoke from the burning ship could be seen clearly, flowing out in a long billowing plume.

  “Ship’s name is the Sommerwind out of Guundar,” Dag reported, keeping watch through the spyglass. “And she’s flying a distress flag.”

  “That’s a good sign,” said Rodrigo.

  The others turned to stare at him.

  “I mean, if the Bottom Dwellers had taken over the ship, they wouldn’t be likely to send up a distress flag, would they?”

  “What he says makes sense,” Stephano admitted to Dag.

  “That’s what worries me, sir,” Dag returned. “When Rigo makes sense the world must be about to end.”

  He continued to watch the ship. “Doesn’t appear to be badly damaged. One of the masts came down and took a lot of sail with it. Some of the hull planking is charred. That’s looks to be the extent of it.”

  “Is she sinking?” Miri asked tersely.

  “Not that I can tell,” Dag reported.

  “Good thing that captain had sense enough to mount swivel guns,” said Stephano. “Probably saved his ship.”

  Dag nodded in agreement. “Maybe a bat rider patrol like the one that attacked us thought they’d come across easy pickings. They didn’t expect swivel guns.”

  They searched the skies for Bottom Dwellers. The Breath was clear this morning, the trade winds shredding the mists. They saw no bats and their riders.

  The wind filled the sail and the Cloud Hopper bobbed through the Breath. Miri ordered everyone back to work. Rodrigo and Gythe continued to nurse the magical constructs, while Stephano divided his attention between watching the merchant ship and keeping a nervous eye on the balloon. Dag and the others were doing the same. All except Miri. She kept her eyes fixed on the merchant ship.

  Stephano would occasionally glance back at the Dustbin, expecting to see the three dragons. For the first time since they’d left the island, the dragons were not following them. Miri caught him.

  “Stop watching for those fool dragons, Stephano!” She snapped. “We have worries enough without them. Rigo, what are you doing sitting about like a lump when the magic is failing? Do you want us to sink into the Breath and die?”

  Rodrigo had taken a moment to rest. He was back on his feet in an instant.

  “There’s nothing for me to do,” he told Stephano in a whisper that carried clearly to Miri. “The magic doesn’t need fixing, at least for the moment. And I can’t breathe more Breath into the balloon!”

  “Be patient with her,” Stephano said.

  “I’ll try,” Rodrigo grumbled. “But she’s not making it easy.”

  The Cloud Hopper was now near enough to the merchant ship that they could see activity on board. Some of the sailors were busy fighting the fire, while others were using axes to chop through the tangle of lines to free the fallen mast. They knew when the lookout caught sight of the Cloud Hopper, for they could hear him shout. Several of the sailors ran to the railing and began waving their arms.

  “Looks like they’re motioning us to come within hailing distance,” said Stephano.

  “That would be a change,” said Miri with a grim smile. “Usually they warn
us Trundlers to keep away.”

  Merchant ships generally wanted nothing to do with Trundlers, who were the bane of a ship captain’s existence. Trundler boats would sail alongside vessels, offering to sell their wares, which included Calvados. The sailors would manage to smuggle the Calvados on board and end up drunk and unfit for duty.

  The Cloud Hopper slowly floated nearer to the merchant ship. Miri reversed the air screws, reducing the boat’s forward motion so that they would not collide. The Hopper was perhaps twenty yards from the ship when Rodrigo pointed to the balloon. Everyone had been so absorbed in watching the Sommerwind, they had forgotten about the lift gas.

  The balloon had barely enough gas to keep them afloat.

  Before Miri could say or do anything, the sailor on board the merchant vessel hailed them.

  “Trundler boat. Have you … medicine?” The sailor spoke Rosian brokenly and with a thick Guundaran accent. “Our captain is hurt.”

  Miri turned to Dag. “You speak their language. Tell him we have medicine. But he needs to throw us a line!” she said urgently. “And be quick about it!”

  “We have medicine and a healer, but we’re running out of lift gas!” Dag shouted in Guundaran. “Can you spare some of your reserve gas and give us a tow?”

  The sailor nodded and began to yell for his comrades to fetch rope. They tied a weight to the end, then they chose the strongest among them to fling the weight with the rope attached toward the Cloud Hopper. The weight arced through the air and missed. The next try failed as well.

  “Lubbers,” Miri muttered, biting her lip.

  On the third try, the weight crashed onto the deck. Dag and Stephano both grabbed hold of the rope, which was attached to a heavy towline. The two men dragged the towline onto the Cloud Hopper and secured it to a pair of towing bollards set into the bow.

  Once the Cloud Hopper was secure and no longer in danger of sinking, everyone on board breathed a heartfelt sigh. Dag bowed his head in prayer. Stephano wiped the sweat from his face. Rodrigo gave a cheer and hugged Gythe. He then went to Miri, laughing, arms outspread.

  “Don’t touch me,” she ordered.

  Rodrigo hurriedly backed away.

  Miri steered the boat slowly and carefully until the prow was about ten feet above the Sommerwind’s stern, taking care to avoid hitting the sails or the Sommerwind’s balloons. When the Hopper was in position, Miri left the helm to Gythe and ran below to collect her ointments and potions. She came back on deck, carrying a leather bag filled with small jars and bottles.

  “Stephano, you’re coming with me. Bring your pistols. Rigo, you stay with Gythe and keep the magic working. Gythe, as soon as they swing over a reserve tank, use just enough to fill the main balloon. Dag, I’ll need you to translate.”

  A sailor tossed a tether line for the lift gas tank to Gythe, while Stephano and Dag lowered the rope ladder. Two sailors waited on the deck of the Sommerwind to hold the ladder steady. Miri handed the bag to Stephano and nimbly descended, then held up her hands to catch the bag.

  “Careful!” Miri called. “I have jars in there!”

  “Don’t break the yellow goo,” said Rodrigo. “We’ll all go up in flames.”

  Stephano tossed the bag down as gently as he could. Miri caught it and waited for Stephano and Dag to join her. Once the two were on board the Sommerwind, Miri waved to Gythe, who steered the Cloud Hopper away from the merchant ship. Attached by the towline, the Hopper floated in the Sommerwind’s wake.

  * * *

  “Thank them for the lift gas and tell them I want to keep the Cloud Hopper tethered to their ship,” said Miri, once they were on board. “Even now that we have lift, I’m still worried about the magic failing.”

  Stepheno listened as Dag spoke to the sailors in the thick, guttural Guundaran language. He found out that almost everyone on board the Sommerwind had suffered some type of injury. Most had burns from fighting the fire, or from being hit by the weapons of the Bottom Dwellers. Some had broken bones or cracked skulls.

  Stephano understood a word here and there. When he and Rodrigo were young, their tutor had tried to teach them the language. Guundaran was extremely logical, the tutor maintained; much more so than the fluid, romantic, and illogical Rosian. Stephano admitted the language might be logical, but he never could get past the fact that the verbs apparently all migrated to the end of the sentence. As for Rodrigo, he did not even make the attempt to learn Guundaran, stating he would never have a need for it.

  “Have you seen Guundaran women?” he had asked with a shudder.

  Stephano heard the word “kapitan” several times. The sailors were apparently most concerned about their captain. Once Dag had talked to the sailors and figured out what was going on, he came back to Stephano and Miri to report.

  “The Sommerwind is a Guundaran ship under contract to a Travian cartel, bound for Evreux. The captain’s badly wounded. He’s in his cabin below. Their surgeon is either dead or dead drunk; with all sailors talking at once, I couldn’t figure out what they were saying. They want Miri to attend to the captain.”

  “I’ll go right now,” said Miri.

  “Do you need our help?” Stephano asked.

  “You’d best stay here, see if you can find out what happened,” Miri said “I’ll have Dag to translate.”

  She and Dag accompanied one of the sailors to the captain’s cabin. Stephano remained alone on the deck. He looked back at the Cloud Hopper to see Gythe at the helm. The balloon was once more fully inflated. She waved at him and he waved back, letting her know everything was all right.

  The Sommerwind’s able sailors had gone back to their duties. He was wondering if there was anything he could do to help, when an officer approached him. He spoke fluent Rosian and introduced himself as “Leutnant Ben Baumann.” Stephano introduced himself as Captain Stephano de Guichen, formerly of the Dragon Brigade. The lieutenant raised his eyebrows at this, but before he could ask questions, Stephano, noticing the lieutenant’s uniform was covered in blood, asked if he was hurt.

  “Not my own blood,” Baumann said, looking down at the dark stains. “The blood of my captain. We were attacked by Freyan pirates riding gigantic bats. Damn and blast them!”

  “Our boat was also attacked by these same bat riders,” said Stephano. “What makes you think they are Freyan?”

  Leutnant Baumann shrugged. “Your king has said so, Captain de Guichen. Freyans wearing these same devil masks attacked the port in Westfirth. Your king has said publicly it will be only a matter of time before Rosia declares war.

  “Though I must admit,” Baumann added, frowning, “I do not know how Freyans come to be riding gigantic bats or why they use guns that shoot green fire. What are your thoughts? You say you were attacked by them.”

  Stephano didn’t know how to respond. He could have told the lieutenant the bat riders weren’t Freyan, that they were a people who called themselves “Bottom Dwellers,” that they lived at the bottom of the world, and that he knew this because Gythe had heard their voices in her head. Baumann would think Stephano had been drinking the Calvados.

  “I don’t believe they are Freyan,” he said, adding drily, “despite what my king says.”

  Leutnant Baumann smiled in understanding. He must have heard that King Alaric disbanded the Dragon Brigade and would guess that Stephano wasn’t happy about it.

  “If not Freyan, who do you think these people are, Captain? And where do they come from?”

  “I don’t know, Leutnant,” said Stephano. He added gravely, “I’m not sure I want to know.”

  Leutnant Baumann nodded. He was a typical Guundaran, resembling Dag, only shorter. The lieutenant had the same large-boned frame and strong jawline, with blond hair and a blond beard. He was profuse in his thanks for the medicines and Miri’s willingness to help his captain. As it turned out, their own surgeon had been killed in the attack.

  “No great loss. The man was useless even when he was sober,” said Leutnant Baumann.


  He then excused himself, saying he had to determine the extent of the damage the Sommerwind had sustained, and see to it that his ship was back on course.

  Alone again, Stephano paced the bridge, looking at the ship and thinking that the cartel had spent a lot of money on her. He wondered what cargo she carried.

  Stephano was inspecting portions of the hull that had been hit with green fire when Leutnant Baumann returned.

  “I have spoken to Fräulein Miri. She says our captain’s wounds were not as bad as we first thought. He will soon be well.”

  “That is excellent news,” said Stephano. “I have to say, Leutnant, all things considered, the Sommerwind appears to have escaped serious harm. Good thing you had those swivel guns.”

  “Danken Sie Gott,” Leutnant Baumann said. “Our captain is a man of great foresight. Privateers such as the infamous Captain Northrop have been attacking merchantmen, seizing them as prizes. Now these bat riders. We heard rumors that merchant ships sailing in the Breath have vanished without a trace. That is why our captain purchased the swivel guns.”

  Stephano watched as Baumann and the other officers took readings, consulted charts. He couldn’t understand what they were saying, but they were undoubtedly trying to determine how far off course the Sommerwind had been driven by the attackers. Sailors climbed the rigging to adjust the sails and the large air screws whirred, bringing the Sommerwind about to a new heading.

  Leutnant Baumann walked back over to Stephano.

  “We are on course again for Evreux, sir. We need to drop off and pick up cargo there, and refill our lift tanks.”

  “That is good news. We are bound for Evreux ourselves,” said Stephano. “That reminds me. We have heard no news for many weeks. Did Evreux come under attack?”

  “As far as I know, Captain, the bat riders attacked only Westfirth.” Then, with some hesitation, he asked, “I do not like to pry into your affairs, sir, but I am curious as to why a Rosian military officer and a gentlemen such as yourself, sails on a Trundler houseboat? I hope you are not offended.”

  “Not in the least,” said Stephano, laughing. “The story is a long one, Leutnant. To make it brief, when the Dragon Brigade was disbanded I resigned my commission in the navy. Being short of funds, I started my own business. In a small way, my friends are merchants such as yourself.”